


From the Ashes of the Old World

by Nevermore



Category: Shadowrun, Vampire Game, Vampire: The Masquerade, World of Darkness (Games)
Genre: Gen, Gothic Cyberpunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-09-08
Updated: 2012-09-08
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:05:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevermore/pseuds/Nevermore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the 22nd century dawns, the scattered remains of the kindred desperately seek a place for themselves even as they struggle for survival in a shattered world dominated by technology.  My attempt at gothic cyberpunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Thursday, December 31, 2099 – 11:00

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who's read the WoD fics I’ve written (posted in the Kindred: The Embraced or the White Wolf sections on ff.net), this is something a bit different. This story is actually part of the same AU I created in those other stories, but as I’ve taken the action 100 years into the future, it’s possible to read this without having read anything else I’ve ever written in those fandoms. (I consider it part of the same series, but in my own notes it's provisionally labeled as Chapter 20, where only the first nine are complete, with two others under construction. So it's really a separate creature.) Those who've read the other stuff may notice little things here and there that they find interesting (especially later on), but no first-time readers will miss anything important. This is intended to work as a stand-alone.
> 
> I am also, quite obviously, ignoring any and all attempts by White Wolf to close out the Old World of Darkness with Gehenna/The Apocalypse. For the purposes of this story, life (and unlife) on Earth continued on with completely different tragic and destructive consequences. Bear in mind that while this is based on the original (or the old, as White Wolf says, since that makes it sound passé and helps sell the new books) World of Darkness, the old order has been so thoroughly shattered that fans of V:tR, should be able to follow along without getting lost. Clan affiliation is largely irrelevant, as are most affiliations the individuals had during the old regime (whether it was based on V:tM or V:tR).
> 
> Also, in the interest of classifying this as part of a given genre, I would call this gothic cyberpunk.
> 
>  
> 
> Brief Warning: I promise that this story will not be updated frequently. (As I write this in September 2012, I should mention that I began the story in March 2005... so yeah, I'm not exaggerating.) There are many reasons for this, but the main one is that real life makes tremendous demands on my time. Feel free to fire away with comments and criticisms, as I always pay attention to my readers and some of your concerns may help make this story far better.
> 
>  
> 
> The Usual Disclaimers Apply:  
> White Wolf Publishing owns everything in the “World of Darkness.” My use is in no way meant to challenge their copyrights. This piece is not intended for any profit on the part of the writer, nor is it meant to detract from the commercial viability of the aforementioned or any other copyright. Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.
> 
> Thomas Gibson and Ace Books own Neuromancer and other related works. My borrowing of words or technological concepts that may appear in Thomas Gibson’s work is in no way meant to challenge the aforementioned copyrights. This story has cyberpunk elements, and that means Gibson, the father and grandmaster of the genre, should be cited. In no way have I knowingly borrowed characters, locations, or events from Gibson’s work (not all of which I have yet read). Any similarity to the Shadowrun RPG is also the product of the fact that I’m writing in the cyberpunk genre. (There’s also the fact that Shadowrun basically ripped off Neuromancer as the basis of its game system, too.)
> 
> Any similarity to any events or persons, either real or fictional, is coincidental and unintended.

_“If the whole human race lay in one grave, the epitaph on its headstone might well be: ‘It seemed a good idea at the time.’ ”_ \-- Dame Rebecca West

 

            Joey Shigeta took a long drag off of his cigarette as he stared into the night sky at the fireworks heralding the arrival of a new century.  He was surprised to find himself taking stock of the past hundred years, wondering if things would be better or worse in the future.  Like anyone else, he hoped his life would improve in the coming century, but he was old enough to know well that hoping for something was the surest path to disappointment.  He’d found it far preferable to disengage from life a slight bit and wait to see what happened; being assertive had certainly gotten enough people killed over the years, and he had no desire to join any of them just yet.

            The thunderous report of mortars echoed off of the buildings in downtown Wilmington, many of which were not only still standing but also amazingly intact.  _And after all that’s happened, the mortals still come out here and celebrate, as if the next hundred years will improve their lot any._   He chased philosophical musings from his mind as he savored the show, trying to decide exactly how long it had been since he had seen a fireworks display.

            Joey finally glanced at his watch – 11:11.  He made a quick wish as he flicked his cigarette away, bouncing it off a long-unused chimney that now served as a nesting place for birds during the warmer months of the year.  The diminutive half-Japanese man was an under-whelming physical presence at a thin five and a half feet tall, but he did his best to compensate for his lack of stature with an eye-catching wardrobe and considered style.  His black suit was custom-tailored and cut to hide his body armor, pistols, and knives, and the wild red streaks in his otherwise jet-black hair gave a young, punkish appearance he spent years developing, striving to keep potential employers slightly off-guard.  He enjoyed the fact that his attire did not match the rest of him; he felt it made him more memorable without ever attracting too much undue attention.  _And attention is the last thing I want when I’m in a crowd_ , he reminded himself, focusing on the charade he engaged in whenever he was walking into the midst of mortals.  The first step, as always, was lighting another cigarette.  It was effective camouflage.  _Stay memorable in a one-on-one, but remain able to disappear instantly in a crowd._

            Joey still found that after spending decades not bothering to breathe unless he needed to draw breath to speak, it was hard to go through the motions just for show.  But the show was increasingly important, as many of his kind had found out.  Thinking about the cigarette in his hand kept him thinking about breathing, and that made him seem more human and less like a vampire.  Of course, he also had a couple of other uncommon advantages for one of his kind – he had retained a good deal of the color in his skin after the change, seeming not to have paled at all over his one and a quarter century as one of the kindred; and he also was able to eat human food.  Without those advantages, slight as they were, he doubted he would have survived for as long as he had.

            He walked out onto the street, pocked by water-filled potholes, and noted that the air had the distinct smell of humanity; the Colonel had certainly achieved his goal of having the residents of Wilmington come out for the celebration.  The hour-and-a-half-long rain delay had not even seemed to dampen any spirits.  With the fireworks done, however, the kindred was able to make out the almost imperceptible yellow glimmer to the north, the dull, hazy afterglow emanating from the crater that used to be Philadelphia.  The city was growing quiet, the breeze was becoming increasingly bitter, and he was running late – the century celebration was a welcome distraction, but things were quickly falling into a familiar pattern.

            “Hey, aren’t you a little young to be out this late?” a large man asked as he stepped out from an alley and directly into Shigeta’s path.  The kindred cursed himself for carelessly letting his mind wander when he should have known reapers would be out in force after a large, post-dusk event.

            _Looks like I’m going to end up being even later than I thought,_ he decided.  “Fuck off,” Joey said curtly, even as he noticed the sound of two other pairs of footsteps approaching behind him.  Just as he was about to smile at the prospect of three to one odds, two more men stepped out in front of him, both of them far larger than the first to appear from the alley.  “I’m not in the mood.”

            “Neither am I, actually,” the first man commented with a faux sob.  “But you see, my grandma needs an operation.”

            “And you figure my kidneys are a match?” Joey asked sarcastically, wondering if he should explain the chances of a mixed-heritage Asian having organs that would be compatible with a Caucasian body.  _Can’t imagine any of my organs are gonna bring him the price he thinks he’ll get.  Then again, my assorted bits and pieces were well and truly atrophied beyond use about a hundred years ago, anyway, so what’s the point?_

            “Actually, we were kinda figuring on your heart,” one of the big men responded, his voice a deep bass that Shigeta thought would make a great singing voice.  Rather than ponder the reaper’s chances of being the post-apocalyptic world’s Barry White, Joey concentrated on flowing his vampire vitae into his extremities.  His speed, coordination, and stamina increased in a heartbeat, and all without the telltale twitch that betrayed the activation of cybernetic reflexes in the mortals.  As he expected, that twitch did not appear in any of his attackers.

            “I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Joey said apologetically, “and I would hate to get blood on my suit.  I don’t suppose there’s any chance we could maybe postpone this until tomorrow night, is there?  I promise I’ll come back.”

            Foregoing a witty retort that would have taken another hour to occur to him, one of the large men – the one without the singing voice, Joey was relieved to see – lowered his shoulder and lunged at him, intending to drive the small vampire into the brick wall of the adjacent building.  Shigeta met the bull rush with a kick to the man’s head, stopping him dead in his tracks and snapping his head back as the huge body crumpled to the sidewalk.  The man immediately started screaming about how he could not feel his arms or legs, but Joey ignored his attacker’s panic as he drew a kukri knife that had been hidden in a sheath placed cleverly in the small of his back.  Three quick swipes with the weapon – a gift from an old friend – and the fallen man was joined by an arm from the talkative man, and a leg from the man with the Barry White voice.  Joey whirled to face the two attackers behind him, his face devoid of any expression as he stared them down, increasingly disinterested in whether or not they would force him to disembowel them before continuing on to his appointment.

            “I suggest you take your paralyzed friend and have him harvested,” Joey muttered, wiping some blood splatter from his cheek.  “Then use the money to have your other friends’ limbs grafted back on.  Most important, stay the hell away from me in the future.  Like I said, I’m in a bit of a hurry.  I don’t have time for this bullshit.”  The final two attackers backed off a step and remained completely passive as the kindred walked away into the night, hurrying his pace as he took another glance at his watch.  11:33.  He would definitely make it to the Speakeasy in time, but he doubted that he would have a chance to shoot the bull with the other patrons.  Still, if being delayed an hour and a half was the price of seeing the first firework display in over fifty years, he was willing to make that sacrifice.  It had been too long since a simple celebration; it reminded him of the old days, and the old days were something that appealed to him a little more with every passing night.


	2. Friday, January 1, 2100 – Midnight

_“Half of the harm that is done in this world is due to people who want to feel important. They don’t mean to do harm.  But the harm does not interest them.” -- T.S. Eliot_

 

            The Wilmington Speakeasy had begun its life as a school well over two hundred years earlier, and its stone walls seemed obstinately indifferent to the destructive crises of the past century.  Several windows had been filled in with stone that was then carefully crafted to blend with surrounding, weathered rock.  The work was obviously expensive, and walking through the front door usually made first-time visitors wonder why anyone had bothered.

            Joey Shigeta loved the front room of the Speakeasy – it always made him feel as if he had just walked into a humans-only version of the Mos Eisley cantina, with the exception that it was sometimes far more violent.  A large stage dominated the left side of the vast room, providing a platform for young, alluring women to eke out a living as exotic dancers.  Joey remembered pre-War America well, and he knew that many of the Speakeasy’s dancers would have had an opportunity for careers as “real” dancers had they been born a century earlier; now their undeniable talent simply added an air of respectability and class that seemed completely inconsistent with the surroundings.

            Turning from the stage brought one an immediate reminder that the Speakeasy was within walking distance of the docks, as no small number of sailors and pirates considered the place their favorite local watering hole.  Several prostitutes openly plied their trade amongst the patrons, all of them gravitating toward sailors who had just arrived in port or city defense officers who were thankfully coming off a thirty-hour, stim-fueled shift.  A large man meandered amongst the tables, clearly avoiding defense officers while gravitating toward sailors who were not being otherwise occupied by the establishment’s in-house entertainment.  Joey knew him well – he was a drug dealer who went by the name of Rooney.

            Barely over thirty but appearing far older, Rooney lumbered awkwardly from one table to the next, his scarred, stretch-marked flesh sliding over a vat-augmented frame that, while large, could not fill the sack of skin that had once covered a far more mammoth build.

            Rooney caught sight of Joey and nodded slightly, though he did not bother to come over.  The dealer was busy peddling his wares, and he was not going to take time out of his schedule to shoot the breeze with a man he knew was not interested in what he was selling.  Shigeta turned to his left and approached the stage, where Crystal and Opal were dancing while Salona stole the show.  Shigeta had spent a great deal of time with the club’s dancers, and despite the fact that he was long dead he had found himself drawn to Salona as much for her physical beauty as for her razor-sharp wit.

            Salona smiled at the vampire, and he dropped a ten-credit chip on the stage without stopping to enjoy the show.  He knew it was now a few minutes after midnight, and he was officially late.  The last thing he needed was his prospective employer coming into the front room and finding him ogling a stripper when he was supposed to be there for business.

            Joey made a beeline toward the rear of the building, waving to the bartender at the back bar as he approached.  As usual, O’Leary had his martini prepared in a matter of seconds.  Joey dropped another ten-credit chip and continued into a dark corner at the rear of the bar.  Predictably, Hound Dog was working the entrance to the back room.  Having avoided the possible side effects that had doomed Rooney’s procedure, Hound Dog was the epitome of what most people hoped for when they underwent a vat job.  His shoulders were considerably wider than the door he blocked, and his torso as thick as it was wide.  Tightly corded muscles rippled along the man’s arms, and his legs were as solid as tree trunks.  Shigeta was absolutely dwarfed standing in front of the man, but he was completely unconcerned.  He knew Hound Dog well enough to know that as long as he did what he was told, there would be no problem whatsoever.  Shigeta was a longtime member of the Speakeasy, and the staff was reminded daily to display courtesy with those who possessed the strength, luck, and intelligence to make a long career working for the Speakeasy’s wealthy clients.

            Joey stepped through the scanning portal set up just outside the doorway, and Hound Dog barely glanced at the results.  He knew Shigeta would not try to smuggle any firearms into the back room, and he also knew that the small man was unique in being one of the few members who did not possess a single cybernetic implant.  The colossal bouncer opened the door and Joey stepped from the front of the building and into a different world.  The back room was richly furnished, with oak and walnut highlighted by polished brass.  Tables circled the room, all of them a half-level up from ten-by-ten booths in the center, each equipped with frosted glass and state of the art surveillance countermeasures.  Every table – including the ones in the booths – provided an excellent view of the stage where a lone piano player currently coaxed late-20th century tunes from the yellowing ivory keys.

            Joey winced as he took a sip of his martini, for the thousandth time longing for the days when he was able to get his hands on European vodka… or at least pre-war American vodka.  The swill that was currently distilled in the Upper Midwest was almost enough to convince him that maybe it was finally time to make the oft-considered switch to scotch.  A middle-aged, Hispanic maitre d’ Joey had never met walked up to him and shook his hand.

            “Welcome back, Mr. Shigeta,” he said amiably, as if he and Joey were speaking for the hundredth time rather than the first.  “Happy New Year to you, sir.”

            “The same to you,” Joey answered with a convincing smile that he had spent a hundred years perfecting.

            “Mr. Smith has not yet arrived,” the man continued.  “Would you like to wait at your table?”

            “Please.”  The maitre d’ led him to a table in the middle of the right wall, fairly out in the open.  Table 17.  The privilege of a table membership at the Speakeasy cost almost as much as the rent on Joey’s spacious apartment, but he chalked it up to the cost of doing business.  He knew he could always trawl for employers down in the waterfront bars, but the men who hired down at the docks paid like they were hiring down at the docks.  High-paying employers, on the other hand, demanded the luxury and security of an establishment like the Speakeasy, and that necessitated the kindred’s membership.

            Joey hated being so exposed to every pair of eyes in the place, most of which were concertedly uninterested, anyway, but the fact was that the best seats in the room – the tables at each of the room’s four corners – were desired by every member of the Speakeasy.  They were reserved on a first come, first served basis, and there was a waiting list that was estimated at eight years.  Joey had signed up five years earlier, though, and not a single corner table holder had retired – or been retired – in that time.

            “My name is Miguel,” the maitre d’ told him.  “If there’s anything else I can do for you, please do not hesitate to say so.”

            “Fine.”  Once he was left alone, Joey leaned back in his chair and listened to the music, hoping it would take him back to a happier time.  Van Morrison’s ‘Moondance’ certainly did the trick; just as he started to recall a tiny bar in a long-gone college town, he was interrupted from his reverie by the arrival of his waitress, Stefanie.

            “Can I get you anything this evening, Mr. Shigeta?”

            “Absolutely,” he sighed.  “What’s safe?”

            “Our butcher slaughtered two steers Monday afternoon, and they’re ready to go,” the young girl answered as she crouched down to be at eye level with her customer.  It was a tried and true method of building rapport with a customer, and Joey always appreciated that Stefanie still made the effort after years of knowing she would be tipped well at the end of the meal.  “I saw the animals myself Monday morning – they were as healthy as anything I’ve seen in the past few years.”

            “Fresh beef?” Joey asked.  “How much will that set me back?”

            “Depends on the cut.”

            “Rib eye, somewhere in the neighborhood of sixteen ounces.  Medium rare.”

            “One-eighty for the steak,” Stefanie answered.  “Any sides or appetizers?”

            “I assume the salad is safe,” Joey surmised.  While Wilmington, Delaware was far from the open ranges that were home to the remaining beef cattle in North America, it happened to have to some of the best natural farms and hydroponics gardens on the East Coast.  The area had been spared from the biological and chemical weapons that had contaminated the continent’s Midwest, an area that had once been known as the breadbasket of the nation.  Radioactive fallout was the main problem on the coast, but a concerted effort of removing topsoil, along with freakish luck in upper air patterns taking the majority of the fallout due east and out to sea after the blasts, helped portions of the mid-Atlantic region recover enough at least to support life.  Many had thought the area would never thrive again, though recently that assumption was being questioned.  Ocean life was making a strong comeback, and radioactivity levels were falling off more quickly than even the world’s premier scientists had anticipated.  Joey was beginning to wonder if he might even consistently be able to get a decent meal within the next twenty or thirty years.

            “Isn’t for no reason that half the city is vegetarian,” Stefanie commented.

            “Fine, I’ll start with a Caesar salad,” he said, grunting as soon as he saw Stefanie’s slow shake of the head.  “No Caesar dressing?”  She nodded, and he sighed.  “Fine, just give me some iceberg lettuce with oil and vinegar.”

            “That I can do.”

            “And maybe some kind of vegetable on the side with the steak… green beans, cauliflower, whatever.”

            “Sure.”

            “But can you do me a favor and hold off on starting the meal?  I’m waiting on a meeting.”

            “I’ll keep an eye on you,” she promised.  “You want another drink?”

            “I don’t think I can handle any more of that Wisconsin vodka,” Joey answered with a grimace.

            “How about Icelandic?”

            “You’re kidding.”

            “Just got a shipment in from Reykjavik this morning,” Stefanie told him with a smile.  “Better get it while you can – there were only two cases.  Might as well enjoy some of the perks of being a member… it’s not all about sitting in the back room and enjoying my company, you know.”

            “Though both of those are reason enough to pay my dues,” Joey replied with a coy grin.  “Just out of curiosity, what’ll the perk of Icelandic vodka cost me?”

            “Does it matter?”

            “Not in the least.”

            “Then I’ll bring you two.”

            Stefanie walked away quickly, leaving Joey to wallow in unexpected memories of the passing of a world he had enjoyed a great deal.  The fact that the piano player went from “Dust in the Wind,” to “Fire and Rain,” and finally to “Time in a Bottle” did little to cheer the kindred as he waited for a contact he increasingly thought unlikely to show.  He was just about to tell Stefanie to have the chef throw his steak on the grill when a well-dressed man walked through the door from the front room.  Joey recognized him immediately – Patrick Wallace, Vice President of Research and Development at BioChip Inc.  Like any other corporate officer, he went by the name of “Mr. Smith” as long as he was inside the Speakeasy, but Shigeta knew Wallace well; he and his team had done three jobs for the up-and-coming executive, and both sides had profited greatly from their ongoing association.  At least two out of three times, anyway.

            Wallace scanned the room and grinned broadly when he saw the small half-Asian in his accustomed table.  He reached the table just as Stefanie arrived with the two martinis – timing that Joey was certain was not coincidence.

            “You already ordered drinks?” Wallace asked.

            “You know me, I’m all class,” Joey muttered sadly as BioChip’s emissary took a sip of one of Joey’s high-priced cocktails.  _A drink that’s no doubt gonna set me back at least fifty cred._

            “Good God almighty,” Wallace said in wonder, extending his arm and looking at the glass with an appraising eye.  I can actually see through this vodka – where the hell did this come from?”

            “Iceland,” Stefanie answered.

            “Get us each another glass,” he said with a smile.  Stefanie was half-turned away when Wallace thought better of his expensive order.  “In fact, get us each another two.”

            Stefanie was hardly out of earshot when Joey asked, “You have any idea what four martinis made with Icelandic vodka are gonna cost you?”

            “Corporate expense account,” Wallace answered absently.

            “Moving up in the world, I see.”

            “Senior VP,” the man confirmed with a nod.  “I would have settled for the fifty percent increase in salary, but the corporate car, apartment, and expense account are nice little perks.”

            “I guess so,” Shigeta agreed.  “But why is it, exactly, that BioChip has its new golden boy slumming it with the temp employees?”

            “Temp employees?  Is that how you refer to yourselves now?”

            “You prefer grave-shifters?” the kindred asked with a grin.

            “I always liked corp-jobbers, actually,” Wallace admitted.  “No sense coming up with euphemisms.”

            “So says you.  Seriously, though, why _are_ you here if you’ve moved up?  Not like a company to expose a valuable commodity like a Senior VP.”  There was a time when Shigeta would have played his cards closer to his chest, hoping to get the answers he wanted without asking so bluntly, but he had found during the past few decades that being direct had certain advantages of its own.

            “That last job of yours was quite a success,” Wallace answered, reminding Joey of a mission he would rather forget.  The break-in at Chrysalis Cryogenics a year earlier had been the most difficult job in a career that spanned decades.  He had been lucky to lose only one member of his team, though the recruitment and retraining process had kept him from deploying the group on any challenging – and lucrative – jobs ever since then.  He could only hope that Wallace’s newest proposal was not equally hazardous.

            “If this is anything like the last job, you can turn around and walk away.  I’m not interested.”

            “This is nothing like Chrysalis,” the corporate officer assured him, forcing Shigeta to wonder if Wallace had learned to lie any better since moving up the corporate ladder.  For his own sake, he hoped the man had not.  “Though it’s just as important to us.  The importance is the reason we’re coming to you, actually.  To be honest, yours was the third team we sent into Chrysalis.”

            “A little detail that would have been nice to know at the time,” Joey muttered angrily, though he could not say he was surprised to hear that news.  “It might have been a clue to the radical security upgrades the facility installed.”

            “I didn’t know, either,” Wallace said earnestly, detecting the kindred’s sudden hostility.  “You’ve gotta know I’m not the only one they send out to hire people; I didn’t find out until I got the promotion.”

            “And how many teams, pray tell, have already failed in this new assignment you have for us?”

            “Unless it’s classified beyond my level – which is possible but unlikely – you’re the first ones we’re going to.  Like I said, this is important.  My superiors like your track record.”

            “I’m touched.  So shall we move to one of the booths?”

            “Unless you’d like to make small talk and enjoy a few drinks first.”

            “It’s probably better if I find out how much I’ll be making, first,” Joey said with a grin.  “That way I’ll know how much more of this vodka I can drink.”  Wallace smiled at that, and the kindred rose and led the way to the middle of the dining room.  Three booths’ windows were clear, revealing comfortably decorated, unoccupied rooms.  Joey entered the closest of the booths, and Wallace followed, closing the door behind them.  The windows frosted over once the door was locked, obscuring all views from the outside, though both men could still clearly see their surroundings.

            “The job is a typical tech-grab from Medi-Stem,” the businessman said as he sat down, placing his half-full martini on the small, polished marble table.

            “I hate that word – typical,” Shigeta groused.  “There’s no such thing as a ‘typical’ job.  Every facility is its own animal.”

            “Be that as it may, I don’t think you should have problems with cybered, ex-Special Forces security guards this time,” Wallace answered.

            “And cybered attack dogs,” Joey grumbled, fighting off the memory of Mitch’s arm torn off at the elbow, moments before a bullet tore through his forehead.  “And snipers, and electrified fences, and a minefield disguised as a heliport.  That was a particularly nasty touch.  Even between the payment we got from you and the cred we got from selling the helicopter, we barely turned a profit.  Think we paid for our street doc’s holiday vacation last year, though.”

            “I told you – this won’t be like Chrysalis.”

            “Of course it won’t.”  Joey leaned back, pulled a cigarette from a silver, antique holder, and lit it with a lighter he had been assured once belonged to the British World War II General Montgomery.  He took a long drag, and then another, before finally continuing.  “A _typical_ tech-grab…  How much?”

            “Two hundred,” Wallace told him.  Shigeta did not even bother to hide his surprise.  “Yeah, I told you – it’s important.”

            “Only two reasons a team gets two hundred,” Joey said, locking his gaze on his prospective employer’s.  “Either it’s such a ridiculously dangerous job that you have to pay us enough to make us think the money’s worth the risk of throwing our lives away, or you’re paying for the expertise of an elite team.  Last I heard, my team hasn’t hit the big-time.  At least not yet.”

            “There are what, two, maybe three teams between here and Jacksonville that could command two-hundred per job?” Wallace asked.  Joey nodded.  “Well, for each of them, there was a first time they got that kind of money.  This is that time for you.”  None of Joey’s earlier meetings with Wallace had made him think he was dealing with a first-class bullshitter, but now he was certain of it.  He was suddenly not surprised at all that the man had been made a Senior VP before the age of forty.

            “What you’re forgetting is that for each and every one of those teams, they got that money for the first time because they demanded it and someone thought their past accomplishments made them worth the price.  I’ve made no such demands, so forgive me if I’m a bit suspicious.”

            “True,” Wallace admitted.  “So how about we make it seventy instead?  As I remember, that’s what you got for the Chrysalis job.”

            “No, I’ll take the two-hundred,” Joey said, “though I want to find out what I can about the company before we make this official.  Gotta run the usual background checks.”

            “I don’t have that kind of time,” Wallace responded with a shrug.  “The job has to be done by tomorrow night.”

            “Meaning you need an answer by when?”

            “Tomorrow at noon.”

            “I’ll have Gina get back to you,” Shigeta grumbled.


	3. Friday, January 1, 2100 – 1:45 a.m.

“It is not by muscle, speed, or physical dexterity that great things are achieved, but by reflection, force of character, and judgment; in these qualities old age is usually not only not poorer, but is even richer.” -- Marcus Tullius Cicero

 

            While part of Joey Shigeta had always found the Wilmington Speakeasy’s illusion of prosperity and late-20th century normalcy comforting, he also remembered the lesson his kind had learned over several painful decades – never lose touch with contemporary society.  So while he was loath to leave the Speakeasy behind for the rest of the night, he knew that it was in his best interest to spend some time in the Old Philly Diner, absorbing the local atmosphere and making certain that he was seen out in public, partaking in the routines that every mortal followed day in and day out.

            Matt Winterbourne fell into step behind him as soon as they were both out of the Speakeasy.  As usual, the street samurai had maintained a low profile inside, making it extremely unlikely that anyone had noticed him keeping an eye on his team’s leader.  Winterbourne was hardly larger than average, standing a shade under six feet tall with a lean, muscular frame that, while obviously the result of long, hard hours in the gym, was still dwarfed by the physiques of men like Hound Dog, who chose the quick and easy path of chemical and genetic augmentation.

            “Looked like it went well,” the young man commented as he finally drew even with his boss.  His brown hair trembled all the way to its spiked, frosted tips; it was obvious Winterbourne had already taken at least his first stim of the night.  “Did it go well?”

            “I’m not sure,” Shigeta muttered absently, considering everything that Patrick Wallace had said to him.  “I’m not entirely convinced our employer is playing straight with us.”

            “Why’s that?”

            “I’ll go over it all at the Diner,” the kindred responded, hoping to avoid telling the story twice.  He was surprised that Winterbourne fell uncharacteristically silent, and the only conclusion he could reach was that his bodyguard had probably taken something more than just stims.  Joey simply hoped for his own sake that the young street samurai had been professional enough to wait until after the meeting had ended.  Winterbourne’s many addictions made him exceedingly easy to control, but they also added a certain level of unpredictability that Shigeta found uncomfortable.  _Just remember – he’s exceedingly good at what he does,_ the kindred reminded himself, recalling the first time he had seen Winterbourne in action.

            The two men walked for almost a half-hour in silence, noticeably avoiding the kind of hassle Joey had experienced while walking alone on his way to the Speakeasy earlier in the evening.  _Maybe the reapers had a good harvest earlier in the evening,_ the kindred decided.  _They’re probably too busy at their worktables to spend more time on the streets collecting extra donors._

            They went through the near-darkness of the Barrens before walking over Dupont Hill.  Located next to the well maintained remains of I-95, the Old Philly Diner was the proverbial end of the road, the last stop on an interstate that had once stretched up through Philadelphia, next to New York, and on up into Boston.  Now all that remained in that area was a blasted wasteland that most figured would be incapable of supporting life for decades, perhaps centuries.  Or never.

            “Looks like business is good tonight,” Winterbourne commented as the pair walked down a gentle slope toward the well-lit building, a beacon of neon light that beckoned to all of Wilmington’s corp-jobbers, whether they were natives or out-of-towners on assignment.  The Old Philly Diner was to Wilmington’s corporate espionage mercenaries what the kindred would once have called Elysium; here there was no violence against others of their kind.  The food, while expensive, was edible and as safe as one could expect for the price.  There was a target range out back, along with a gunsmith and a few trailers that were set up on a nightly basis, hawking the latest in weaponry, software, and cyberware from the four corners of the globe.  Wilmington was home to some of the most advanced bio-tech firms in the world, and that meant it was also home to some of the best corp-jobbers.  Ex-soldiers, ex-vampire hunters, and normal citizens who’d scraped together enough money to make up for a lack of skills with cybernetics and chemicals – all of these people gathered here, sharing stories, technology, weapons, and even detailed information on some of Wilmington’s finest corporate security systems.

            A dozen motorcycles were parked outside in a neat row, basking in the humming, orange-red glow from the diner’s sign.  Several Jeeps and Humvees were also parked there, one of them owned by the team’s driver, Nicole Gardener.  “Team’s already here, too,” Winterbourne added needlessly, as if Joey had somehow overlooked the presence of the well-armored, pock-marked monstrosity he had given Nicki as a gift three years earlier.

            The kindred declined opportunities for conversation and led his newest team member inside.  He undertook the ritual of scanning the patrons for anyone he might consider hostile or unpredictable and then walked toward the table where Nicki was sitting with Stevie and Gina.  Gina and Nicki were already eating, while Stevie did his best to avoid watching.

            “Hey boss, how’d it go?” Gina asked as soon as Joey arrived at the table.  “It go well?”  Everyone’s attention turned toward their overdue leader and his bodyguard for that night’s meeting.

            “It was Patrick Wallace,” Joey answered simply.  Almost as if on cue, each head at the table gazed down in silence – all save for Winterbourne’s – and an eerie stillness ruled for almost a minute before the young street sam dared to utter a word.

            “Umm… is there a problem?” he asked.

            “He’s the reason you were hired,” Gina said, bluntly giving voice to the thought that everyone in the group was sharing.  “He’s the one who hired us for the job that got Ken killed; if Ken had survived, you wouldn’t be working with us.”  Joey looked at his second-in-command curiously, detecting a hint of unexpected bitterness in her voice.  Ken had not been popular with the team, though as with Winterbourne, everyone was more than willing to concede that he excelled at his job.  The kindred could only assume that Gina’s tone was meant more as a rebuke of the team’s neophyte than as an indication of any affection for their fallen comrade.  He would have to pay attention and see if there were any other signs of internal discord – that kind of thing got team members killed more quickly than bullets.

            “Cheerful, Gina,” Stevie muttered.  “Very cheerful.”

            “You gonna argue the accuracy of my statement?” the hacker asked caustically.

            “Enough,” Joey interrupted.  “You guys want to talk about Ken, you can talk later until you’re all blue in the face as far as I’m concerned; but we’re taking care of business, first.”

            “Sure, boss,” Gina responded sheepishly.  Stevie nodded, and Nicki continued to gaze silently at the food on her plate.

            “The money he’s offering is good… too good, even,” Joey began.  “Son of a bitch gave me a huge song and dance about how we’ve hit the big time, how his superiors were impressed by Chrysalis and now want to pay what we’re worth.  Pretty much everything but an exclusive-rights contract, actually.”

            “And you told him no, right?” Gina guessed.

            “I told him you’d call him by noon,” Joey answered.

            “What’s his number?” Gina asked as she pulled her cell out of her pocket.  “I’ll call him right now and tell him what he can do with his job offer.”

            “Wait a second,” Winterbourne cut in, ignoring icy glares from Stevie and Gina.  “Just how much money are we talkin’ here?”

            “Who gives a shit?” Stevie replied.  “He could pay us each a million… it ain’t gonna do us any good if we’re not alive to spend it.”

            “But what if he’s on the level?” the team’s rookie challenged, obviously looking for the big payday that all young corp-jobbers spent most of their free time dreaming about.

            “He’s a Mr. Smith, a suit,” Nicki commented, looking up from her “cheese” fries as she finally joined the conversation.  “They’re _never_ on the level.  They’re always workin’ an angle, whether he’s just trying to get us to agree to an impossible job, or whether he’s deliberately setting us up to get taken out; after all, maybe his bosses just decided Chrysalis is ‘need to know,’ and we don’t.  If the money’s too good to be true, then it’s not a job we want.”

            “But if he’s gonna set us up, why risk raising our suspicions by overpaying?” Winterbourne reasoned.

            “Except maybe he’s counting on our new rookie to make that kind of an argument, to trust him because no one who was workin’ us would be so obvious about it,” Stevie said condescendingly.

            “But then again, maybe he expected that those of us with experience would have picked up on that possible trick, and we would then suspect him again,” Nicki replied with an amused grin.  “So it’s like, he knows that we know that he knows.”

            “Quit screwing around,” Gina spat.  “Can’t we be serious for at least five minutes?  Is that so fucking much to ask?”

            Joey looked his team over, again wondering what kind of internal strife was developing behind his back.  He had spent so much time training Matt recently that he had failed to keep an eye on the rest of the crew.  “Here are the facts – the job is listed as a tech-grab from a bio-tech corp.  Facility is level five, maybe level six… certainly nothing we shouldn’t be able to handle.”  
            “Unless asshead has some surprises for us again,” Gina grumbled.

            “True,” Joey agreed.  “Payment’s six figures.”

            “We’ve only done one of those before,” Stevie commented, referring to a job fourteen years earlier that involved stealing a prototype of a new attack helicopter from a facility in Georgetown, Delaware.  “That job kept me golden for three years.”

            “This one would keep you longer.”  Stevie’s eyebrow arched at Joey’s comment, and he sat back in thought for several minutes.

            “I vote yes,” he finally said.

            “Easy for you,” Gina said, lowering her voice and leaning across the table so she could keep her voice lower.  “Your chances of walking away are far better if the job goes south.”

            _Yup, there it is,_ Joey decided, finally seizing on the source of the team’s internal friction.  The only other vampire in the group, Stevie was a former gang-banger who experienced his life’s greatest stroke of luck when he left Los Angeles only hours before it was vaporized.  The rest of the team consisted of ghouls, all of them old and experienced but dependent upon their master for the blood that provided their eternal youth and vigor.  The last time the team’s mortals had started to grow jealous and resentful, Shigeta had quelled the ill will by upgrading everyone’s cybernetics to next-generation wetware that reminded them why they could never undergo the embrace… and why the sacrifice was worth it.  It seemed such an outlay of cash was quickly approaching again.  _And that’s as good a reason as any to take the job,_ he decided.  _I could divide one-twenty amongst the survivors and use the other eighty to upgrade Gina, Nicki, and maybe even Matt._

            “I’ve been looking at some of the new InterPhasic I-O neuro-transmitters,” Shigeta commented pointedly.  “They’re nice.  Real nice.  Tests have them reducing signal degradation by over twenty percent; but they sure cost a hell of a lot.”  The team’s three cybered ghouls were staring at him, each of them understanding the silent offer that was being made.

            “Fine, I’m in,” Nicki sighed.

            “Me too,” Matt agreed.

            Gina simply stared at her master, still appearing to weigh the merits of risking her life on a dangerous job.  “Fine,” she finally relented, no small hint of anger in her voice.  “But I don’t like it.”


	4. Saturday, January 2, 2100 – 7:30 p.m.

_“You live and learn. Or you don't live long.” -- Robert A. Heinlein_

 

            “I already cleaned those,” Jason Grayson said as he walked into the apartment’s large living room, seeing Joey Shigeta seated in the middle of the floor, a tarp spread out beneath him as he pored over his weapons.

            “And I’m cleaning them again,” Joey responded with a grin.  It was the same before every job – his retainer prepared everything in advance, and the kindred predictably went over everything a second time.  “You know I like to do this myself.  It’s tradition.”

            “It’s okay to break a routine, you know.”

            “This coming from the guy who spent the last fifty years living his life according to a set schedule,” Shigeta replied.  The ghoul smiled, displaying no trace of the haunted expression that had seemed to hang over him for years after Joey had taken the orphan off the streets decades earlier, when he was still a child.

            “Gina called a few minutes before you woke up,” Jason said, turning on his heel and heading toward the kitchen.  “She was on her way, so she should be here any minute.  Stevie, too.”

            A knock from the door punctuated Jason’s words, and the ghoul immediately turned again and answered the door.  Stevie Jackson walked in alone, his demeanor clearly indicating that he had come alone, obviously planning to meet Gina at the team leader’s apartment.  “How goes it, boss?” the burly, tattooed vampire asked.  “Still don’t trust Jay with your weapons, huh?  I guess that makes sense and all… not like he’s been with you for decades or anything.”

            “What has you in such a good mood?” Joey asked, ignoring the light chuckle that Jason let slip as he left the room.

            “It’s a new century.  You know what that means?”

            “It means I have to remember to use a new year when I’m writing a check.”

            “Okay, I guess that’s true,” Stevie allowed, “but it also means that the Edict of Calais went the way of the DVD and the dodo.”

            “Hmph,” Joey grunted, pulling his pulse rifle onto his lap and doing his best to ignore the weapon’s extremely uncomfortable weight.

            “Doesn’t that matter to you?”

            “Not so much,” Joey admitted.

            “We’re allowed to embrace childer now,” Stevie responded enthusiastically.  “We can start being ourselves again.”  Joey simply looked at Stevie and shook his head slowly, a sad expression on his face.  “What?”

            “The Edict was an empty gesture when it was passed,” Shigeta said, never turning away from the work on his assault rifle, making certain he did not reveal any of his disappointment in his friend.  “The idea of forbidding the embrace was a good one since it helped us disappear a little more easily, but the fact is that the elders who passed the edict were hunted down and extinguished a few years later.  There’s been no one to enforce it for almost fifty years.”

            “So if the edict doesn’t matter, then why haven’t you embraced anyone?  I mean, you talk a good game ’bout bein’ footloose and fancy-free, but you follow the rules as much as anyone else.  Shit, you even got me followin’ the rules.”

            “Helped keep you alive, didn’t it?”

            “Sure, not gonna argue that,” Stevie admitted.  “It’s just you were all fire and brimstone about The Traditions, the Inner Circle, the wrath of the elders and all that shit, and now you say they don’t matter.  Doesn’t make much sense to me is all.”

            “I wasn’t ever following the rule of the Edict of Calais… or more to the point, I didn’t refrain from embracing anyone because of the fact the Edict was handed down from on high,” Joey explained.  “I just happened to agree with its reasoning – embracing childer attracts undue attention.  Sooner or later, someone’s gonna miss the person you embraced.  There are cameras everywhere – banks, street corners, business security systems, police hoverdrones, on rooftops collecting weather data… the list goes on and on.  Someone somewhere is going to find pictures of the person you embrace, and odds are, since we don’t just choose at random, you’ll be in one or two of those pictures, too, following the potential childe to make sure they’re not doing anything that would make them unworthy.  It won’t take the hunters long to follow the trail to your doorstep.  It’s simple – in our society, basically being under some type of surveillance 24/7, there is no safe opportunity to embrace a childe.  Hell, feeding is tough enough.  No way on God’s charred Earth am I gonna risk an embrace.”

            “Okay, that’s a valid point,” Stevie allowed.  “But we’re risking extinction if we never replenish our numbers.”

            Joey looked up at his friend and team member, surprised that the old gang-banger could come up with such a cogent insight.  _Well, cogent for him, anyway.  Still a bit flawed, though._   “You’re forgetting one thing,” Joey responded.  “We’re immortal, so we don’t have to replenish our numbers.  All we have to do is not get killed, and in my opinion a great start to doing that is not embracing childer.”

            “And we’re constantly missing worthy candidates if we don’t embrace,” Stevie pointed out.

            “There’ll always be more,” Shigeta countered.  “And if there aren’t it’s because humanity has become extinct, in which case we’ll all starve ourselves into torpor pretty quickly.  Methinks this has something to do with someone in particular, though.  You have someone in mind you’re looking to embrace?”

            “I don’t know.  There’s this--”

            “Hello everyone!” Gina shouted merrily as she walked into the apartment.  “I’m here.  You all may now commence having fun.”

            “Your arrival is like the coming of spring,” Joey said whimsically.

            “Thanks, boss.  That’s real sweet.”

            “Don’t know about that,” Shigeta replied.  “I used to be terribly allergic to pollen back in the day.  I hated spring.”

            “Oh hardy-har-har,” the hacker said sarcastically.  “Looks like Stevie’s happy to see me, though.”

            “Nah, he’s just hungry,” Shigeta joked with a casual shrug.

            “So you get any info on this job?” the hacker asked, raiding her master’s refrigerator as Joey turned down the lights, drew the curtains, and pulled up some schematics on a monitor that covered most of the far wall.

            “It definitely seems do-able,” Joey explained as Gina made herself comfortable on the century-old Corinthian leather couch and Stevie spread out on the floor.  “Security is tight, but far from impenetrable.  Medi-Stem’s in that wonderful and – for them – unfortunate position of having enough money to support some productive R&D but not have enough resources to get security worthy of protecting their developments.”

            “So we’re talking armed guards, mag-lock doors with twelve-digit access codes, and maybe motion sensors in sensitive, unoccupied areas,” Gina surmised.

            “Well, there are also lasers and some infra-red cameras.”

            “And that’s why we’re bringing you along, Mr. Room Temperature,” the hacker replied with a grin.  “What about the mainframe?”

            “Low- to mid-level ice,” Shigeta explained, referring to the company’s Anti-Intrusion Software.  “At least, that’s what I’ve been told.  You’ll want to double-check.”

            “Of course.”

            “And this is a job that’s getting us six figures?” Stevie asked skeptically.  “I’m not going mad, right?  This really _is_ suspicious, isn’t it?”

            “No doubt about it,” Shigeta grumbled, “but I’m not seeing anything that leaps out as this being a setup… unless each of my sources has been bought.  That’d be a lot of trouble and expense to go to just to get us killed.  It’d be far easier and cheaper just to hire a cleaning detail.”

            “What if they did that, too?” Stevie suggested.  “You know, just in case the setup didn’t work.  Most corps are known for being thorough.”

            “Already checked,” Joey admitted.  “No new cleaners in town, and no one local is gonna contract out for a local team.  Bad business…”

            “So any ideas on getting in?” Stevie asked, trying to get the prep meeting on track.

            “Same as usual,” Joey responded, displaying a picture of the security gate, manned by two bored guards.  “We send Nicki in through the gate, probably in some kind of stolen delivery or cleaning services van.  She’s checking on the possibilities right now.  Gina, you and Winterbourne will enter in the truck with Nicki.  The rendezvous point is Building F.  Once we regroup, we’ll head to Building J; that appears to be the onsite mainframe.  Nicki will wait at F… from there she can be at any exit from J within thirty seconds.”

            “Sure,” the hacker said with a nod, tapping a few keys and bringing up a side-by-side external view and schematic of J Building.  It was what she expected – three stories, concrete, only a few windows, all of them almost certainly bullet-resistant – built to survive a military assault and likely tough to navigate once they were inside.  A moment later she added in Building F and the three roads that connected it to Building J.  “Think Matt’s gonna be upset about the subtle approach?”

            “He’s gonna have to learn that a full frontal assault is not always the best idea,” Shigeta answered.  Then he turned to the other vampire.  “Stevie, you and I get to start at Building B,” Joey continued.  “That’s the motor pool.”

            “Setting up a diversion, just in case,” the old gang-banger guessed.

            “A few C-4 charges,” Joey confirmed with a nod.  “Nothing crazy, just enough to draw attention away from us.  We don’t want to cause enough destruction to get them obsessed with tracking us down.”

            “Fine,” Stevie sighed.

            “Hopefully, we can pull this off with a minimum of surprises,” Shigeta said.

            “Well, maybe a few surprises will do us some good,” Gina suggested.  “I mean, as long as it’s nothing too bad, that is.  I for one would like to see how Winterbourne responds to a job getting FUBAR’d, especially if we can do that before getting to a seriously well-defended installation sometime in the future.”

            “Silly mortal,” Joey chided with a forced smile.  “All these years and you still play fast and loose with your life.  I, for one, hate surprises.”


	5. Sunday, January 3, 2100 – 2:30 a.m.

_“The secret of reaping the greatest fruitfulness and the greatest enjoyment from life is to live dangerously!” -- Friedrich Nietzsche_

 

            “Call me crazy, but this just seems too easy,” Gina muttered as she crept along behind Joey Shigeta.  Both intruders stayed close to the wall, attempting to avoid the pressure sensors installed in the center of the hallway.

            “You’re not crazy,” Joey answered, disturbed that he was not the only one to think things were going too well.  Gina had told him the guard at the front gate had hardly glanced at their identicards when they checked in at the complex entrance, and the two guards at the building entrance had simply waved them on inside without even taking the trouble to exchange hellos.  The motor pool had been completely deserted, and Joey and Stevie had reached Building J as easily as their teammates had.  In fact, Joey found it far more difficult to find his way than he did to evade any security.

            _Three guards, no dogs, and only one maglock.  It shouldn’t be this easy to get into the R &D wing of one of Wilmington’s leading biotech research corps.  There wasn’t even a token metal detector to make certain we aren’t carrying any weapons… which of course we are._

            The vampire stole a glance at his fake I.D., listing him as Anthony Tsurakawa, a computer analyst from Athens, Georgia.  While it was an excellent forgery, Joey knew that the card should not have stood up to any close scrutiny.  _And even if it had, there’s no rational explanation for us not running into extra security inside the installation._

            “We’re here,” Gina announced, inserting her mag-lock skeleton key and hooking it up to her cranial interface.  Her eyes glazed over for only a couple of seconds before the door opened with a slight hiss that reminded Joey of the doors on Star Trek: The Next Generation.

            “Nice digs,” the vampire commented as he followed Gina inside.  Within moments she was jacked into the mainframe, her eyes closed but twitching, resembling a sleeping woman enjoying a vivid dream, as her hands glided over the keyboard that was jacked into an interface on her forearm.  The usual gestures followed – shrugs, smiles, grimaces, and excited pointing at objects that only she could see in the virtual world.  There was nothing to indicate anything out of the ordinary until Joey noticed that Gina was taking longer than she had expected.  Her body remained almost completely still for several minutes, and then she gasped, her eyes going wide while her gaze remained vacant.

            “Gina?” Shigeta asked worriedly, weighing the merits of tearing her interface from the wall.  He knew that could very well land her in a coma, but he also knew that if something were going wrong – if she had encountered any unexpectedly formidable countermeasures – that the alternative of a coma from which she might someday awaken was far preferable to having her synapses permanently fried.

            He was reaching for the cords when Gina started coughing and a faraway focus returned to her eyes.  “Fuck,” she gurgled, trying to swallow the chunky bile that had risen in her throat.  “We have to get out of here, Boss.”

            “What’s up?”

            “We’re not alone,” she answered.  “There’s another team here somewhere, and their hacker just got frosted by one of the worst ice programs I ever saw.  Security has to have been alerted.”

            “Frosty, you see anything?” Joey asked over the com, hoping that Winterbourne had not run into any trouble outside the building.  The vampire had not yet heard any gunfire, so that was a good sign; the rookie street samurai was prone to shoot first and ask questions later.

            “All’s quiet,” Winterbourne answered.  “Something wrong?”

            “How ’bout you, Banger?” Shigeta asked Stevie, ignoring Winterbourne’s question for the moment.

            “Same as Frosty,” the other vampire said reassuringly from the roof.  “I have the guards in my sights right now, and they’re still shootin’ the bull.  You and the Secretary all right?”

            “We’re coming out.  Wheels, get going to extraction point B.  Frosty, get moving right now; Banger, give us thirty seconds and then you get going, too.”  Shigeta didn’t wait for any confirmation from his team; he simply counted on their training and experience to get them through their assignments flawlessly.

            Gina struggled to her feet, visibly shaken by what she had seen in the company’s computer matrix as she coped with the disorienting effects of an abrupt disconnection.  “You okay to walk?” Joey asked, seriously doubting whether the hacker could make it to the exit, despite the fact that Nicki would be waiting by a door almost directly below them, just three flights down.

            “I’ll make it, Boss.”  She grimaced as her knees buckled beneath her, but she managed to maintain her footing. Joey took her keyboard from her, slinging it over his right shoulder as he helped support Gina with his left.  The hacker gripped a needle-gun in her right hand, but Joey doubted she could even raise it to fire if she needed to.  She was growing paler and greener every moment.

            “Boss, you got incoming,” Stevie yelled over the com.  “Looks like a full security detail, maybe ten guys in body armor entering at the rear of the building.  I’m not sure where they came from… I was only looking away from that direction for maybe ten seconds.”

            “Take a moment,” Joey told Gina, settling her back against the wall as soon as they entered the stairwell.  _No way we’re getting out of here without a fight,_ he realized.  _She’s in no shape to sneak past them or outrun them, so we’re gonna have to go straight through them._   For the briefest second he considered letting loose with the abilities that his blood granted him, but he discarded that strategy as soon as it occurred to him.  Facing security guards was one thing; giving any local hunters an excuse to start tracking him and his team was something else entirely.

            “We’re gonna need support, Banger,” Joey muttered, starting to wonder who the guards were, where they had been hiding, and how they had reacted so quickly after Gina’s presence was probably detected in the corporate matrix.  _It **is** a setup.  We knew it and we still came in here…_

            “There’s an armored vehicle coming from the other side of the complex,” the other vampire reported from his rooftop vantage.  “I figure we have about a minute to get out, or we won’t be leaving at all.”

            “Blow the charges in the motor pool,” Joey ordered.  “Where are you, Wheels?”

            “Twenty seconds out,” Nicki answered, her words joined by three muffled booms that shook the building, letting Joey know that the motor pool had just gone up in flames.  “Looks like I’ll be on the other side of the building from the guards.”

            _At least we got lucky on something._   “Carry her,” Joey told Stevie as soon as he bounded down the stairs and into their midst.  “I’ll take care of the guards.”

            “Sure,” Stevie growled, clearly disappointed not to be included in the fighting.  The vampire slung Gina over his shoulder and glanced back to see Joey warming up his pulse rifle.  Knowing better than to stay against the team-leader’s orders, he took off as quickly as possible, his vampiric vitae providing a superhuman, celerity-fueled sprint down the hall and toward Stairwell 3.  He knew he could then cut down the hall on the second floor and make it to the extraction point without getting himself or Gina shot.

            Echoing footsteps betrayed the guards’ rapid approach, and Joey crouched down in a corner that grew more shadowy as he settled in, hoping his subtle attempt at camouflage would go unnoticed by any survivors.  Four men rushed into view – two in font and two behind – all of them in full combat gear and holding assault rifles at the ready.  Joey let them all set foot on the small landing, and then opened up at point-blank range.  The front two men were blown in half by the thunderous blast as Joey used the wall for support, wincing when his eardrums perforated from the thunderous report of his pulse rifle.  Five seconds later, the deaf kindred was dancing around the splattered remains of the four men, directing his vampiric vitae into his ears so that he would be able to hear the approach of any more guards.

            “ . . . near you,” he heard Nicki report.

            “Say again,” Joey responded.

            “If you’re off the third floor, then they shouldn’t get near you,” Nicki told him.  “From what I can tell on infra-red, they’re more concerned with securing the lab than they are with catching you.”

            “Which means they either don’t think we got anything important, or there’s something else in the works to make sure we don’t get out,” Joey responded as he reached the ground floor.  He threw the door open and came face to face with Stevie, who was just finishing getting Gina into the back of the van.

            “Hurry boss, hurry,” Winterbourne shouted.  “That armored vehicle will pin us into this section of the complex if we don’t get out right now.”

            _So that’s the plan to keep us from getting away,_ Joey decided.  He hopped into the back and managed to get the door closed just as Nicki peeled out and started across the parking lot.  The armored vehicle came into view – the vampire noted that it was a converted private security model of a Bradley fighting vehicle – and immediately opened fire from a mounted machine gun.

            Bullets tore through the side of the team’s van, but only Stevie suffered any wounds.  _And he’ll be healed by the time we get back home._

            “Hold on,” Nicki shouted as she cut the wheels to the left, turning onto the access road and placing the van on a collision course with the armored vehicle that was bearing down on an approaching intersection.  _If that thing beats us to the four-way, we’re done for,_ Joey knew.  His thoughts were cut off, though, as he was thrown backwards by inertia as Nicki opened the nitrous oxide tanks.  “This is gonna be close, boss,” she yelled through gritted teeth.

            The van made it with several feet to spare, and Joey allowed himself a brief moment to relax.  More gunfire erupted from the armored vehicle, but the vampire was certain that Nicki’s driving skills would be more than enough now that they were out in the open.

            _Too close,_ the vampire decided.  _But then again, for what we got paid, that wasn’t near as close as I thought it’d be._


End file.
